Almost Easy
by BullettProoff
Summary: After weeks of scowering Georgia for a safe haven, Avary comes across a ragtag group of 7 survivors, then another group led by 3 sisters who claim that they know how to put an end to the 'Green Flu' once and for all. Rated T for Adult Language/Situation
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

The faucet was leaking again, and I really didn't feel like getting out of bed to fiddle with the stupid thing, but after another five minutes of the incessant sound I resigned. It's silly to think, but I always think about how the sink's leaking – which had been the bane of my existence since I moved to the little apartment in Savannah – pretty much saved my life when shit hit the fan. It was somewhere around 2 A.M., can't say I really know…I mean, I just wanted the damn thing to stop making that noise.

Goosebumps popped up over my exposed skin, the short shorts I was wearing didn't exactly offer an excessive amount of shelter from the broken air conditioner the tenant before me had left in the crappy apartment; but the rent was only $100 a month, which was an insanely cheap price - even better since I had been in the midst of getting my degree in High School English. I dug at the corner of my eyes with my index finger, attempting to get the chunky gunk out as I pushed the squeaky door open. The door slid open with a groan, and I winced. I hated living alone, if it wasn't the constant fear of serial killers, it was the mysterious nothings that I constantly heard in the middle of the night. I suffered from insomnia, which was why the drippy sink drove me insane – any sleep I managed to capture was set free by the sound of water droplets meeting a metal basin.

My eyes moved across my small apartment space, and I was quite surprised to see someone…Rather, _something _already in my tiny kitchen area with a grip on the silver faucet, its entire body trembling. At that point, I was pretty sure it was a person – the silhouette was shaped like a human; for the most part, anyways. But something was off. Just something…dark, scary even. And I felt an icy chill run up my spine, but being half-asleep with new-found adrenaline rushing through my veins I wasn't in the mood to put up with creepy strangers being inside my apartment, especially at 2 something in the morning.

"Who the hell are you?" I snapped, standing on the opposite side of the kitchen. Slowly – dramatically – the…_thing _turned, and what was once my landlord was now foaming at the mouth, blood smeared on his clothes and face. Clumps of his hair were ripped out, and his eyes were glazed over. I instantly regretted getting up to fiddle with the faucet.

"Never mind." I squeaked meekly, taking a step-back; unfortunately, my landlord lunged at me, his lips peeling back over his teeth. Right then and there, it seemed like my leaky sink had won the battle, quite literally bringing my life to an end…all because I could **not** stand the sound it made. Lucky for me, I'd spent Junior High and High school as a member of the track team, which I thought would make it that much easier to leap over the coffee table and take off towards my room. But my foot caught on the fucking wood. And I received a face full of carpet [no pun intended] as well as my landlord on top of me, making desperate clawing motions towards my face. To my dismay, his fingernails – more like claws - raked my cheek and I felt the blood start beading up at the edge of the cuts – I figured I would die, but that didn't stop me from flailing my own limbs at my attacker. Beneath him, I bucked, kicked, and punched at his body; finally, I landed a good right hook on his temple and he fell to the side. It didn't take me two seconds to get to my bedroom, slam the door, and lock it.

Something really, really, _really _bad was going on, and now my landlord was screeching and pounding on my door like a madman. As the adrenaline began to settle down my memory kicked in, and I glanced towards my closet – my father worked for a special form of S.W.A.T., one that handled hostage situations that the City didn't want to be aired on the National news. I hadn't thought much of it at the time, but he'd been so grim last Sunday – his weekly visit. I remembered it as the rhythmic sound of my landlord beating on the wood of my door continued.

_"Daddy!" I dropped my laptop bag, and threw my arms around my father. I saw him every week because he made it a point to check up on me, but it always made me happy that he even bothered coming over to my little apartment to have lunch. He hugged me back, kissing my forehead as he carefully placed my feet back on the ground._

_ "Ava, you look more grown up every week." My father smiled warmly at me, but I saw him hesitant for a minute – his expression faltered as he noticed me noticing. He lifted a hand and pressed his fingers to his temple, and closed his eyes. Now, since he was a member of S.W.A.T. my father was extremely well-muscled – which made him look a little bit silly when he got upset._

_ "What's wrong, daddy?" I asked, my eyebrows knitting together as I shut my apartment door. His dirty blonde hair was peppered with grey, probably because he was nearing fifty three. He looked like he could be my barely-older brother though; which is saying something because I'm only twenty. _

"_I'm not at liberty to say, but by god I _**will**___protect my family." He grumbled the last part, turning towards the tiny oak dining table pushed up against the back of my sofa. I hadn't seen it at first, but then again I wasn't exactly paying a particular amount of attention to my surroundings, but lying on the table was a large black case accompanied by a medium-sized box. _

"_What's that?" I inquired, the spark of curiosity was fueled as he began unzipping it. I got close enough so I could peak around his shoulder, and I bit my bottom lip as I saw his hands shaking. The suspense was killing me, and my mouth was agape as he pulled out an AK-47. Now, I'm no gun expert, never have nor will I ever be, but I knew how to use them. I was an only child, so I acquired both feminine AND masculine experiences. With the way the Infection is these days, I'm not sure that's a bad thing._

"_There are…__**Things **__going on, with the Government, in New York…Just, don't go out at night, and keep this," He paused for a minute, pulling out a small silver pistol and a hunting knife (accessorized with a bone handle). "With you at all times, I have a license for you as well. I love you, just, don't ask questions and be prepared. For anything." _

_I guess I shouldn't have been so surprised. The other box contained a first aid kit, more ammunition than I would ever like to use, flairs, and a grey thing with a little red light and a fuse on it, as well as a pack of matches and three lighters. That was a big hint as to what was to come._

I emerged from my thought-pool and looked in horror at the hole growing ever larger in my door. That was it. I whirled around, terrified, and flung my closet door open – pulling the case out and fumbling with the pistol as I repeatedly tried to load it. After 10 minutes passed, I figured it out, hands trembling I faced it towards the door. He was relentless, tearing at the wood as if his life depended on it. But then a light inside my head flickered on, and I realized something – this wasn't the landlord who stared at my chest nonstop when I stopped by to pay the rent, the landlord that had given me tickets to a big concert last year in hopes that I would sleep with him… Admittedly, I hadn't been fond of him, but I missed the landlord that wanted to screw me instead of kill me. But it wasn't him. It was whatever my father had warned me about. The first word that came to my mind was…Zombie? But was he dead? Did he want to eat my flesh? I decided to think about it later, and closed my eyes as my index finger pulled back against the trigger.

The shot rang out and the sound of wood being torn to bits was gone, I opened my eyes. He was dead. If he hadn't been already, anyways. I wish things had stayed that simple – one shot one kill, but whatever it was that caused them to go insane – I think it was some sort of strain of rabies – adapted fast, natural selection really working its magic. By the next week, I couldn't just sit in my apartment, barricading the door, watching Obama address anyone who remained unaffected. The phone lines didn't work, and the story I had pieced together was that they probably didn't want the areas that hadn't been hit yet to know. They thought they could stop it. Two weeks in and I decided it was now or never.

My eyes stared at the barricade of furniture pressed up against my front door – did I really want to go into that world? My gaze trailed down to the AK-47 that hung around my body, as well as the pistol and knife holstered on either of my hips. I was prepared for this. My back didn't even hurt from the amount of supplies I'd thrown into the large green backpack I intended to tote around. I knew I couldn't hide in my apartment forever, no matter how badly I wanted to – and there were probably worse…Creatures on the streets now, and I might have screwed myself over by not being able to see what exactly was out there. Finally, I gave up trying to fight it, trying to find an excuse for staying in, trying to blame myself for dying, but there were really only two things that were going to happen – I would go out there and find salvation, or die. I had a better chance trying to find 'salvation' than sitting around in my apartment waiting for some monster to break in and get me.

I pulled the dining table, sofa, end table, and dresser away from the door, things had tried breaking in before – only when the television was on, but I'd started turning the volume down so it was quiet enough for them to be unable to hear it. The Green Flu. That's what they called it. If I'd watched the News more, I'd have been more prepared, but I didn't, so I wasn't. I pressed the palm of my hand up against the door, studying the paleness of my skeleton-like fingers for a moment, before the other wrapped its fingers around the knob. The fear in my stomach twisted, knotting, blooming into flowers of anxiety.

_Now or never, _I reminded myself, closing my eyes before flinging the door open – I was surprised at how prepared I was as a former tenant flung themselves towards me. For a brief moment, I hesitated, trying to get my hands on the trigger of the AK-47 and shooting as soon as I did. Ten bullets, for that one, I noted. I decided the use of my pistol would be a better idea, faster shooting, faster reload, hopefully it was only a _little _bit less effective than the AK-47. I instantly missed the familiar smell of air freshener coming from Ms. Watson's slightly ajar apartment door, and the heavy metal music drifting from somewhere upstairs. I continued on, despite the sadness that had finally started burrowing into my heart. _Does it matter if I live? I have no family, no friends, nobody else. Is anybody even alive? Am I the last survivor? _The thoughts came in insistent barrages, and I swore under my breath – I'd shot [and killed] around ten zombies now, my accuracy with the pistol was better so it ended up taking less ammo to use the simple weapon, but I knew that the AK-47 would be a life saver if I got swarmed by the beasts. I was surprised at how natural it felt, how unattached I was to people I used to pass by every day, maybe it was because I'd had time to come to terms with it in my apartment. I'd never really had _good _friends, I mean sure, I had friends that I went to the bar with, but none that I would tell my deepest darkest secrets to, not that I really had any. It was beneficial, so I didn't regret it. Well, maybe just a bit.

I stood in front of the door that was both the entrance and exit to the apartment complex I'd spent the past two weeks in, holstering the pistol and glancing behind me before wrapping my fingers around the AK-47. This had started – for me - at 2AM, on a Saturday. The majority of the people in my apartment complex were teenagers or young adults, and that made me lucky, too – most of them had all been out at some party a band was throwing. I'd been invited to go, but figured staying in and finishing a paper for my English class would leave me better off. Thank god that I was a dork.

An hour later I was standing on the top of a semi-truck, sweating and beating zombies with the butt of my gun. I still had ammo, but not the time to reload, and standing on the truck's cargo was only prolonging how long it would take for the zombies to get me. I was halfway to Rayford, and I was damn sure that was where I would end up dying. Then I remembered something – the grey thing that had been part of the items my father had supplied for me…It had a fuse, did that mean it was a bomb? I used one hand to unfasten one from my belt, whilst the other one used a piece of metal debris to slam on the top of many Infecteds' heads. It was definitely some sort of bomb, and I sure as hell hoped it worked. I used one last swing with the metal debris to give me maybe…two minutes before they climbed onto the metal rectangle with me. I dug a lighter out from my pocket, holding the orange and blue flame to the bomb, before pressing the button on it in and throwing it. I silently thanked my father, jumping down from the rectangle and sliding into the driver's seat, pushing the dead driver aside. The high-pitched beeps came in closer and closer spans of time, before finally exploding, destroying the horde of zombies that had been trying to tear me apart.

I turned the key in the ignition, the car I had driven prior to this one had been overwhelmed by the mass of zombies throwing themselves against it, so I took action and made my way to the semi-truck, which was loaded with something or other, it didn't matter. All that mattered was that I was going to _live. _Or at least, I hoped so. It sounds cheesy and clichéd, but at the start of this I was a different person. Anybody would have changed. But I wasn't _alive _so to speak. But I was now.

My name is Avary Hope Jacobson, former English major, twenty years old – and I'm going to **LIVE.**

**Here's the first chapter, hope you liked it, if you did, or even if you didn't…Review, let me know your opinion. (:**


	2. Nightmare

**I – Nightmare**

7 weeks post Infection; I was in Rayford, Georgia.

I wasn't exactly sure what time it was anymore, all the clocks and watches there were had been broken or went without batteries; the latter reason I didn't bother with, figuring that time in a world with no prior engagements would be useless. I glanced upwards, blinking as the early noon sun lit up the entire town, there were no crevices that even the slyest Infected could hide themselves in. I wasn't particularly positive why exactly I'd left Savannah and come to Rayford instead, though the fact that Rayford is a small town is very handy given the circumstances. But I figured that if anyone had survived, it would have been somebody in Rayford. You see, Rayford is a small town, in Georgia, plump full of rednecks and white trash – a lot of the time one would complain about this, but not when the two social classes are known to breed mean, blood-thirsty offspring and have guns stowed away or kept out right in the open. If anything, I'd be able to secure myself a 'safe' house for a few days, or maybe even weeks. Something I'd noticed along the brief journey to Rayford was that the Infected didn't _eat_ people. They just killed them. I felt like that was somewhat comforting, because it would mean that the Infection wasn't straight out of someone's nightmare or some low-budget horror film. When Obama had still been giving speeches, warning and attempting to reassure the citizens of America, he'd clued us all in on the fact a strain of Rabies had become mutated while Scientists were running tests and it had ended up being air born. I'd paid an extreme amount of attention to all the radio and television reports on 'The Green Flu' and I had ended up concocting my own theory on what exactly the Infected were and what was going on.

I figured scientists had been experimenting with the low-class not-too-horrible strain of Rabies that animals got shots for and people occasionally received from being bitten by a carrier of the disease. Chances are they were probably attempting to make a better cure for it, or better yet, biological war-fair. In the midst of testing it, when coming into contact with the human system, all the things that fought the Infection mutated as well as causing the Rabies to mutate. Since scientists would obviously not have anticipated this, they would be unarmed and unprepared in a simple unguarded laboratory. Either the Infected individual would have infected them or killed them, possibly both, and escaped – chances were that whatever it was that caused the skin to decay found its way out of any open sores, cuts, etc and had gotten into the air. The reason for the particularly more evolved infected could only be explained with more theories. There's no 'for sure' way to judge exactly what happened, but I do have my guesses. For hunters, I would determine something along the lines of how Rabies is a disease that _animals _get, for example, cats and dogs – which would explain the feline and canine characteristics. For smokers, the tar, nicotine, and what not in the system mutated along with the human's and rabies's cells, causing the external changes. Boomers, the fat ones I think, would have most likely been obese people, and not to be a stereo-type, but they would have had a large amount of food in their stomach. So when one thinks about it, it would make sense to think that whatever it was, or the combination of everything, as well as the stomach acid, and mutated cells would have caused the projectile and large amounts of vomiting, as well as the large puss-filled boils. The only way I can think to explain the Tank would be to say that they DEFINITELY had steroids in their system, which would have caused the extreme amount of mutation. The probability of Spitters having a drug like cocaine or meth in their system is likely, which would explain all the mutations with them, and considered the clothes that adorn their bodies, even after death, I think my judgment is most likely accurate. As for the Jockeys and Chargers I really have no idea. And I almost forgot, the Witches. The theory I've concluded is that they suffered from some sort mental disorder, such as Post Traumatic stress, or a BPD; meaning that they were most likely diagnosed and on medication for it, the medication explains their mutations while any mental disorders would account for the way they wander around, sobbing. The only reason I'd known the names was from coming across a C.E.D.A file with a list and pictures of all the aforementioned 'Infected'.

Avary had concluded that during the hours of darkness she was better off looking for shelter, and catching as much sleep as her paranoia permitted. As night grew closer, she pressed her weapon closer to her chest, finding some comfort in the way the cold metal felt against her perpetually shaky fingers. She was extremely quiet, the sound of her shoes hitting the pavement almost nonexistent, a slight breeze rustling the dying shrubs bordering numerous houses. To Avary, the peace and quiet of the seemingly uninhabited – even by Infected – neighborhood was eerie, and she strongly disliked it; feelings of suspicion creeping up her spine. Her eyes trailed downwards and she realized she had been clutching the AK-47 so tightly her knuckles burned white, for some reason, this made her smile. More at her own stupidity than anything else. Around that time was when the veil of silence was torn open by the gurgles and cries of the Infected – who tore around the corner, tripping over one another, trampling those who were unfortunate enough to lose their footing in the process of the chase.

Avary had not anticipated the random horde to appear seemingly out of a black abyss, and she froze, but only for a moment…Unfortunately, that mere moment was long enough for the slimy veined-tongue to wrap itself around her chest and abdomen, pulling her backwards slowly. Her eyes dilated instantly as she saw the horde getting faster and faster, and she kicked at the ones who got close enough and had started to claw and snap at her legs. After a few moments of squirming, Avary found her arm had dislodged itself from underneath the blackened tongue, and she rapidly felt for the hunting knife which was secured to her right hip. She murmured a silent prayer as her slender fingers wrapped around the bone and she began hacking away at the meaty tongue – the desperation for freedom growing as she saw the horde getting closer. Then her fear disappeared, because she knew she'd make it, for no reason, she just did. The tongue fell to her feet, and Avary ignored the black blood dripping off of her clothing, and instead put her index finger against her gun's trigger. The feeling of satisfaction that drummed through her bloodstream as she watched Infected after Infected fall victim to her bullets was indescribable, and she knew it was sadistic – she just didn't care. It was a guilty pleasure, and society no longer had control over whether or not it was wrong or right. There was _no _society, not anymore. Freedom. That was most likely the best word Avary could use to describe the situation, she'd always been holed up in that little apartment, or in the college's classrooms. She hadn't necessarily lived a dull life, but a life in the 'everyday' society wasn't what she was fit for. She was fit for _fighting, _for everyday actually being a battle, fit for having to live with constant paranoia. And for once, even though just seconds ago Avary had come dangerously close to the brink of death, she felt content. Happy, even.

Ribbons of steam wiggled up into the air from the barrel of the AK-47 now hanging loosely at Avary's side – having done its job quite well, she had decided it did in fact deserve a break. The pile of corpses that littered the ground was rather large, Avary estimated around twenty something bodies – it was truly amazing she'd managed to eliminate that many without getting anything more than a few claw marks up and down her legs from the Smoker's earlier attempt to immobilize her. It felt very good to survive through that, and she knew that some people would be appalled at how easily she killed people who used to be sane, but it was truly 'kill or be killed' now, and not in the way the voice-overs spoke of on those Planet Earth movies teachers showed students to prevent themselves from having to, god forbid, actually prepare a lesson. For now, Avary was safe, out of harm's way – having killed what was probably the majority of the Infected that lived on the particular block. Slowly, she pushed a small white house's door open with her foot, peering inside at the empty surroundings. It was empty, at least she assumed so, and took a step inside before proceeding to close the door and make her way to the other rooms, wanting to make sure there were no Infected currently taking up residency in it. Avary made her way over to the kitchen, glancing at the curtained windows, smiling slightly as she noticed the glass was intact, and the lack of anything lurking in the shadows; the blood spattered refrigerator and counters didn't even faze her. She frowned when a crash came from the house's hallway, and then from what she assumed was the bedroom.

Avary's footsteps were quiet, as they had been on the pavement outside, and her fingers trembled as she laid them on the bedroom doorknob, completely aware that whatever was in there could probably kill her with relative ease. She closed her eyes, sending another prayer up to the deity she didn't believe in once more before kicking the door open – gasping as she saw elongated-necked Spitter hissing in the corner. Avary felt her gag reflex kick in as she noticed the long bead of green bile-like substance hanging from the wide-open mouth, the noxious smell of it rolled around in the air as acidic bubbles of it popped. As soon as she started to pull her pig-tailed head back Avary had pumped the Spitter's stomach full of lead, feeling nauseous as the green acid leaked out of the holes. Unfortunately, Avary later discovered that the bedroom – where she'd found the Spitter – was the only room that had one door and no windows, automatically making it the best to spend the night in, along with the always necessary furniture barricades.

I closed my eyes, trying to forget how I'd almost died earlier…Damn Smoker and his long ass tongue (no pun intended). I suppose that really wasn't the worst part of my day, dealing with the Spitter would probably have to take the cake. I'm not sure what exactly it was that set me off, or what in particular made me almost projectile vomit back in retaliation, but I sure as hell despised the way her glass-like hate-filled eyes had locked onto me; that wasn't it either, I don't think. I think it was because I could tell she was afraid of me. That was what was causing me to doubt all this as I sat in the corner, thinking…I didn't think killing something that wanted you dead was wrong, but then again, did she actually want me dead? That's a stupid question. Of course she did! Why am I even worrying about this, it's the Apocalypse! There isn't time to worry about my moralities and whether or not I've been doing the right thing by killing these Infected _monsters _that have had nothing on their mind except killing and Infecting any survivors like myself. Finally, I'm accepting that. I mean, after figuring out – well, getting a theory, anyways – on everything that has happened and everything that is and has been going on, it's easier to accept the fact I do have to kill to survive. It was sometime around that thought circle that I drifted off to sleep, leaving the world of worries and doubts behind me as I went.

"Jockey!" The thick southern accent echoed through the alleyway, and the mechanic felt pain pulsate through his neck and shoulders, struggling to throw the giggling Infected off his back. A steaming sniper rifle bucked backwards, but its carrier held it tight, determined to get the stupid little bastard off his friend's back.

"Damnit Ellis!" Dropping the rifle, Nick ran forward, putting his two hands on either side of the Jockey's neck – yanking it backwards onto the ground then proceeding to kick it repeatedly until the sound of its neck breaking permeated his eardrums. Ellis cocked an eyebrow, rolling his shoulders; that one was gonna leave a mark. Nick merely turned and rolled his eyes, walking back over to Coach and Rochelle who were taking care of any Infected who'd managed to separate from the Horde they'd eliminated earlier.

"Where we headed?" Rochelle asked, holding the M16 loosely at her side while the other hand pushed a strand of coarse black hair behind her ear. Coach coughed slightly, glancing around the alleyway the group of four stood in, before smiling broadly.

"I'll be damned!" Coach said, sounding incredibly euphoric as he leaned his Fire-Axe against one of the buildings he stood between. Rochelle looked at Coach expectantly while Nick did his usual eye roll – Ellis was the only one not paying attention; his eyes were scanning a billboard promoting Dove shampoo.

"Rayford is one town over, and if we take this 'ere car I bet we can find ourselves some of that good ol' fashion gun supplies – they have a big ol' firearms store. Plum full of everything for killin' zombies ya'd ever need." Coach waved his hands in the air as he spoke, excitedly turning around and making his way to the car the group had taken from Savannah's mall.

"Thank the lord for weapons!" Ellis cried enthusiastically as he slid over the front of the car, and opened the passenger door before cozying on up, dirt and blood smeared cheek pressed up against the window. Rochelle smiled softly, Ellis was like her younger brother – and it was always somewhat amusing when he made the remarks he did; Nick found them funny as well, however he didn't want the other three to catch on.

"Damn hicks." Nick mumbled under his breath before sitting in the backseat, followed by Rochelle who looked pretty damn happy to get a chance to rest. Ellis was already half-asleep, which everyone was thankful for since, while they were in the car, he had as much time as he needed to go on and on about the adventures he'd had with his best friend Keith. The sun was setting, and it was time everybody got some sleep – after an hour of driving, it would be Nick's turn to drive, so he leaned his head against the slightly cracked window, finding sleep shortly after his eyelids fluttered shut.

**Chapter One (technically speaking, anyways) not as long as the first, but almost, right? Please review! I'm not sure how much I really like how I explained the Infection, or how I did the starting first-person view at all. **

**Chapter two should be coming within the next two weeks, hopefully. I'm not sure when I'll be able to work on it, I mean, I'll be writing as much as I can for the rest of the week, but I won't be home at all this weekend [most likely anyways] so it may take until this upcoming Sunday or later. **

**Anyhow….REVIEW? (Please?)**


	3. This Is Not Glorious

**II – This Is Not Glorious **

I stared at the ceiling, like I had been for the past 10 minutes. There weren't any clocks; I was well aware that it was my imagination simulating the repetitive "Tick Tock" all on its own. I still remained without any idea as to what time it was, and fortunately, that didn't bother me. And that's when the sudden _need _to get out of Rayford hit me…I actually think it hit me so hard because I could hear the drum of Infected's footsteps pound against the concrete; but they weren't after me. I could hardly hear it, but somewhere, off in the distance, there was a mechanic drone – similar to the ones I'd heard when I'd crossed the bridges on my way to Savannah. The two day drive from my home-town had led me across almost fifteen of those bridges. The driving had been murder, especially since I was trying to stop as little as possible. Constantly having to pee isn't a particular amount of fun. It took me another 10 minutes to realize the large amount of meaningfulness that the mechanic noise held for me. _There were other survivors._ At least, I hoped there were. How else would the bridge get started up? Well, there were a few possibilities…But, at the time, I was incredibly optimistic.

Even with my optimism, I still didn't want to drag myself out of the unfamiliar bed. My eyes stared at the AK-47 resting on the end-table, I wondered how long it would be 'til the constant firing would render my most powerful weapon useless…Or until I would run out of ammunition. I think the latter one is probably the one I should have worried about the most. But for some reason, I couldn't force myself to worry – worrying didn't come with as much ease as it had used to. I knew that I could chop the bastards up with a _kitchen knife _if I really had to…And I would, too. I didn't have anything to fight for; there was no glory, no fame, and no fortune. Only to stay alive. And even then, what is life worth when you're alone [well, maybe not] in a dead world, fighting against monsters that don't care who you are, what you did they just want you dead. I just. I couldn't put my finger on why I was fighting. But I was.

I threw myself off the bed, landing on my feet and rushing to stuff all my supplies back into my green bag, double-checking all my guns to make sure they fired correctly. They did. I dashed about the bedroom quickly, and within the next fifteen minutes I'd gathered everything. Quickly, I forced all my weight against the dresser blocking the bedroom's entrance, breathing hard as I finally managed to move it all the way over.

The cold air slid over my skin and I felt goosebumps – an all too familiar feeling – emerge all over my skin as I stepped out of the small house I'd spent the night in. My green pack was slung over both shoulders and my was AK-47 in hand. The groan of, what I hoped, was a bridge being lowered or raised by other survivors echoed through the air, and motivated my first footsteps through the miniature abandoned city. Within ten minutes I had started breaking my walking speed and burst into a slow run, I _had _to find others. There had to be others, others who were alive. Then something killed the glowing spark inside of my chest. An Infected rushed towards me, from a room I'd opened the door to a few moments ago; but the single Infected wasn't what sent me spiraling into disappointment, it was the equipment strapped to it…An automatic shotgun was hanging limply around its torso, and one of the beeping bombs – like the grey one I'd used before getting to Rayford – was secured to its belt.

I hesitated before I shot the fallen survivor, ignoring the tears that had started to gather towards the corners of both my eyes. I did not want to be the last one alive. I couldn't handle being alone, for god knows how long – in the once prospering country that had been taken over by a fierce mutated strain of Rabies. I used my jacket's sleeve to wipe away the tears, and then I inhaled sharply. This was not the end. I walked into the room, glancing around before making my way to the next door, knocking it open with my knee. The shots from my gun echoed and cracked through the air, and it didn't take long for me to eliminate the majority of the Infected wandering the area; as one of the remaining three made it ways for me I yanked my pistol from its place at my hip.

**Mercy City, one week prior**

"Dante you keep a hold of her or I'll kill you myself." Lucinda hissed, using her elbow to knock back an Infected that had been trying to get its bloodied fingers on her. Lucinda's blonde hair was caked with dirt and sweat was causing it to cling to her face, she was in the midst of making her way to the elevator which her older sister, Phoenix, had been dragged into by a smoker. A bright, disturbingly determined, light had been lit inside of those emerald eyes and the sound of her M16 locking up was drowned out by the cries of Infected who had been drawn to the sound of the elevator's gears grinding as it was lifted through the elevator shaft. Sapphire, Lucinda's youngest sister, was growling – eyes tinted a faint shade of red, and her long claws digging into Dante's wrists as he struggled to hold her against him; she was desperate to save Phoenix, to kill the Infected that were hording around the her eldest sister, who'd been previously covered in boomer bile.

"Lucinda!" Yet another survivor called, one that was using an automatic shotgun to annihilate the Infected. The group had been running low on ammo for quite some time, and Sam was quite aware that his next three rounds would be the last; Sam was torn between helping Dante with Sapphire, or aiding Lucinda in getting to the short-tempered brunette who was still invisible in the elevator. The green-eyed blonde glanced behind her and sent Sam a warning glare, before she disappeared into the elevator along with nearly two dozen Infected…Promptly afterwards, the elevator's doors slid shut, Dante's jaw dropped and Sapphire lurched forward and began tearing at the metal doors, Sam ignored the other two and slammed his hand down on the downward pointing arrow, tossing the shotgun aside and pulling out a set of pistols he'd harvested from one of the police men outside.

Inside the elevator, Lucinda screamed. Infected were clawing at her exposed flesh, and some were even biting. She quickly used the butt of the M16 to knock back several Infected – even delivering a fatal blow to one's temple. Within another few seconds, Lucinda had yanked a pistol out of Phoenix's (who was still being strangled by the smoker) holster, ignoring the loud bangs that caused her ears to ring. As half a dozen fell, Lucinda squinted her eyes shut, knowing death was inevitable as she let the sleek metal weapon fall to the floor – a warm tear rolling down her cheek, which a trickle of blood was streaming down. Then she inhaled something. Smoke. Lots of it. Her eyelids reluctantly slid open and she saw Phoenix, panting on the ground, clutching her ribs. There were still Infected in the elevator with them, but the Rabies ridden psychopaths were unable to see through the dense veil of smoke. Lucinda looked up, and smiled softly – Sam had killed the smoker, and was starting in on the Infected.

Exhaustion had been eating at Lucinda for longer than she cared to remember but she put a hand on Phoenix's shoulder, who looked up and smirked slightly – amber eyes lighting up with the familiar hint of ferocity. The remnant of the horde disappeared and Sam walked farther into the elevator, before Lucinda promptly through her arms around him, crying.

"What's wrong with me?" Sapphire whispered quietly, tears filling her vivid red eyes as she slowly looked up towards Dante, who had started to make his way over to her – regardless of the fact she'd been the one to cause his wrists to bleed profusely…it would heal. Dante was a site to behold – he'd bleached his hair white and dyed his skin a fierce shade of red that matched Sapphire's eyes (when she'd been provoked). Slowly, he kneeled down and wrapped his arms gently around Sapphire's stick thin torso, letting her press her ivory cheek against his chest. As soon as the Infection began, Sapphire had found herself in the turmoil of being caught somewhere between a human and a witch. In the beginning, when Sapphire, Phoenix, and Lucinda had found refuge on the roof of a five story apartment complex; Sapphire had only curled up in the fetal position when being attacked or in the midst of a horde below. When the three sisters found themselves caught up with another group of survivors (the one that Sam and Dante had been running with) Sapphire had started sobbing when scared or angry. Then Phoenix cracked mentally, and attempted to kill her sister several times. That had sent Sapphire spiraling into the state she was in now – the one where her fingers turned to long, dangerous claws and her eyes glowed that ominous shade of red.

Dante had promised to protect her, no matter what; since she was obviously so fragile and unable to properly keep herself alive. He would carry her when she curled up in a ball, and calm her when she was scared. Immediately Sapphire was enamored with him. Being only 17, Dante was naïve enough to not realize it; well, before Lucinda took it into her own hands to point it out. Around the time the group passed through the sewers, on their way to Mercy Hospital, Sapphire kissed him – and that was when it started. 'It' being an odd sort of relationship. Sapphire depended on Dante, and Lucinda – who had taken lead of the group – put him in charge of keeping track of the fifteen year old semi-witch.

Lucinda wouldn't admit it, nor would Sam, but the two had a thing for one another – though neither would share it with the other. Little things hinted towards it, and it wouldn't be long until someone did _something _about it. That is, if the group of five would even make it out of the hospital alive.

"Grab onto this, I'll pull you up." I looked critically at the twisty rope the thin brunette had lowered down, before grabbing it with both my hands and holding on tightly. I'd made it to the bridge with only a few near death experiences; I was thoroughly shocked to find myself meeting another survivor – another woman, for that matter. Then, I was shocked more by the fact she was _helping _me the thirty five feet up off the ground so I could join her without lowering the bridge once more. I squeezed my eyes shut as she started to pull, I knew I was probably far too heavy…But she was managing – it also probably helped that I was slowly climbing up the rope as she pulled.

"Thank you. So much." I panted as I bent over, resting my palms on my knees. I hadn't gotten a decent look at her earlier, but the girl was bone-thin; and she was just that, a girl. Her features were well defined – a slightly long nose that was thin, it actually fit her features quite well. Her cheek bones were high, and freckles, but only a few, peppered the bridge of her nose and her cheeks. Her eyes were average shape and size, and the most interesting shade of grey. She replied with an acknowledging nod and strained smile.

"My name's Avary, call me Ava." I figured introducing myself would give her a little more faith in me, not that I really doubted she didn't have enough – I mean, she'd risked breaking a bone to pull me up thirty five feet instead of leaving me below to find a way around.

"I'm Zoey. And you'll be meeting Louis and Francis shortly." I froze for a minute – a friendly smile was plastered on her face as she straightened out and turned. For a second I thought she meant some deceased friends or family, and that Zoey intended to put a bullet in my head – that the Infection had stolen her insanity. The fear quickly deteriorated as she cracked the door of the toll-taker's booth open, and I was enabled to see two men sitting down; one sleeping and the other's legs propped up on a chair.

Slowly, the one's whose legs were propped up glanced upwards – double-taking as he got a better look of me. I examined him quietly. He was black, forgive the derogatory term, with a nose that was a bit big, but like Zoey's, it fit his face. His cheekbones were very prominent, and a light shade of pink was visible on his cheeks. His eyes were the most endearing brown eyes, with the kind of eyelashes you only see on chubby little boys.

"Hi." I said with a smile, glancing towards the other man – whose appearance consisted of biker attire, and a face with extremely fierce features, and a buzz cut that seemed to be growing out. Immediately, the biker's gaze turned to Zoey, and he spat – what I assumed was the juice from chewing tobacco – on the ground before scowling.

"Who the hell is this, Zoey?" He growled, rising and taking a step over to where I was, standing in the entry way. I didn't take a step backwards, but I didn't do anything out of angry either. Calmly, I looked up at him, eyes scanning his scowl before replying.

"My _name _is Avary; you may call me Ava." I spoke loudly and clearly, specifically making it my goal to frustrate him with proper enunciation and calmness. The biker mumbled a curse under his breath, pushing pass me and giving his female counterpart a very disappointed look.

"Cool your jets Francis, if she's made it this far she's immune – like the rest of us." Zoey sighed, cocking an eyebrow before she placed a small hand on his chest. Immediately, Francis's expression softened and one of his masculine hands reached up and covered the brunette's. The fact that they seemed to be a couple registered.

"What's going on?" Our six eyes snapped over to, who I assumed was Louis, the man who'd been sleeping only a few moments prior.

"What's going on?" Louis could tell his voice sounded groggy, but that was to be expected since he'd spent the last thirty minutes asleep – the sleep had been well deserved. He was completely astounded to see another woman standing beside Zoey, her eyes giving him a skeptical look. Slowly, Louis licked his lips, taking a moment to examine the survivor – mostly to see if she had any conspicuous looking bite marks or scratches on her.

The new survivor was at least 5'8, and she had blonde hair the shade of beach blonde most women ruin their with by trying to get it that color. Her hair was only matched by the color of her eyes – which was similar to the color of the sky after a thunderstorm passed. Her skin was very slightly tanned, and her face reminded Louis strongly of a pixie…Her nose was petite and sloped slightly upwards, her cheek bones were high and her eyes were _huge – _but not too huge. And her lips, well, it surprised Louis that he was so attracted to her – the Infection had completely killed his sex drive, at least that was his first thought – but it was hard not to be…Her lips, they were plump and well filled out…And her body…_Is a wonderland,_ Louis mused momentarily, smiling before he realized he had been about to say something. To finish the thought, her body was thin – but not too much, her breasts were large…He was guessing around a medium D, and he was sure her behind was just as filled out as her chest.

"Who's this?" Louis asked roughly, standing, suddenly aware that this new survivor was giving him the same he'd been giving her a few moments ago. She didn't miss a beat. Promptly, she stepped forward, giving him a smile he vaguely remembered seeing somewhere else…But he shrugged the thought off.

"Avary, I've already had the…Pleasure of meeting these two. Louis, right?" She said, letting her question drift off, quietly waiting for his response. Louis took a step forward, returning that million-dollar smile and holding out his hand formally.

"The one and only."

**So lyke, to be honest. I did NOT like how I wrote this chapter. There's a lil' tidbit from Avary's past coming up within the next two chapters, you probably won't see it coming; even if you think you do, you're wrong xD. The next chapters will be better, because this one was rushed and I only went over and corrected it once…Sooo yeah. Anyhow. Review; because I adore the people who care enough to do so 3**


	4. Author's Note: Frownyface

**Author's note:**

**So lyke, I had the next chapter ¾ done…Before I'd edited it, of course…Buttt…My laptop broke, which has ALL my stories and crap on it. It won't start so I have no way to recover any of them…I will, of course, continue the story and start the chapter over…It's just going to take another 2-3 weeks :S…Sadface…**


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